


Death Wishes and Wet Socks

by A (AILiSeki)



Series: Fictober 2018 [9]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - All Media Types, A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: (Almost) Suicidal Thoughts, (not as bad as it sounds just tagging to be sure), Canonical Character Death mentions, Depression, Fictober 2018, Gen, Isolation, Loneliness, Loss, M/M, Mentions of Drowning, Regrets, death mentions, death thoughts, fictober 2018 day 9, in short LS has deep issues, mentions of burning, minor ATWQ spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AILiSeki/pseuds/A
Summary: Lemony is caught and trapped in a basement.





	Death Wishes and Wet Socks

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for [Fictober 2018](https://fictober18.tumblr.com/prompts), day 9.  
> Prompt: "You shouldn’t have come here."  
> This follows the hc that the kind editor is a man called K. Editor and he is not a volunteer and he didn't have any connections to VFD before becoming Lemony's editor.

Every day, many people have bad ideas, and a good amount of them act on such ideas. It may be unclear whether an idea is bad or not, but usually, its consequences may give a hint.

Lemony Snicket had had many ideas during his life, from brilliant ones to stupid ones, and many that he still couldn't classify. However, it seemed to him that an idea that ended up with him handcuffed in a flooding dirty basement was probably not a brilliant one.

He unkindly reminded himself if he had a way to know it would end like that, he would not have done it.

His hands were handcuffed on his back, which made it hard for him to even take a look at them. Even if they weren't, the nature of handcuffs made it hard for one to pick the lock when they were the one handcuffed. Even if it wasn't so, he had no tools. Even if he had, lock picking had always been one of his weakness, since back in his childhood.

The water was filling the room slowly, very slowly. That could give him more time to plan his escape, if an escape was even possible. But as he had already figured in the first thirty seconds, unlocking the handcuffs would be impossible, and his arms were trapped around a column that helped keep the roof over his head. Breaking it could be possible, but being trapped under rubble, or possibly smashed by it, would be as unpleasant as drowning. His last hope would be to have an ally showing up to save him, but he had few living allies, and none who could possibly know where he was right now.

In other words, he had no hope, and the slow rhythm of the water instead of being helpful only made his situation more agonizing. It had been more than half an hour but less than an hour, his whole body was hurting from him being unable to move properly, and the water was only reaching part of his feet.

That was an awful way to die, Lemony thought. Maybe not as awful as being burned alive, a part of his mind argued. Dying, no matter how, seems awful, he argued back. Then he realized he was talking to himself again, and looked around once again, for anything that could give him even the smallest chance of surviving this.

He had some very important documents hidden in his pocket, and a few notes about the Baudelaire case that should be in his next book. But he was trapped there, and would not be able to finish the book, and by the time his captors came back to retrieve his body those vital papers would be soaked and ruined, destroying forever important details that the great public would never get to know.

Lemony thought for a moment he would rather the water reached his head already and ended this, instead of giving him all this time to rethink all his mistakes, his regrets, and everything he would never manage to finish. He told himself he didn't need to think of those. He could think of pleasant things, like the feeling of finishing a good book or the accomplishment of solving a hard mystery. The taste of his favorite pie, or a root beer float before a certain incident. Sneaking out with Beatrice late at night, and kissing while hiding behind an open menu.

There were pleasant things in the world, but most of them were far in the past. The world had turned so unpleasant, and his whole life had turned unpleasant as well, and it was all his fault, and there he was, thinking of the worst again, and with barely any will to fight it.

His mistakes, at least the serious ones, had started with the wrong questions he asked during his apprenticeship, or maybe before that, with the wrong choices that took his out of the City and didn't allow him to do his part in the wrong plan, that was also made by him. They continued with the theft from the wrong woman, and letting the wrong story be spread about it, which made the wrong person the target of hatred and revenge. He had written the wrong reviews and pissed off the wrong people. He had been questioned and given the wrong answers. Last night he had chosen the wrong meal in a Thai restaurant. His whole life was a mistake.

He regretted it all. He regretted leaving his sister to be arrested. He regretted staying so long away from his family. He regretted choosing a fruitless quest over the woman he loved. He regretted staying quiet when he should have spoken up, and also speaking up when he should have stayed quiet. He regretted the people he pushed away in one way or another, and his misjudgments, and the ugly wallpaper in his apartment, and the itchy shirt he picked from his closet to wear today without thinking.

He thought of the portion of ice cream waiting in the fridge. He thought of the book resting on his nightstand, a bookmark just before chapter seven. He thought of the book he was writing, interrupted midsentence (an awful habit) and with so much editing overdue.

His editor. The only person who would possibly miss him, in some months when the manuscript took too long to arrive. Or maybe not. Maybe he would just move on and forget about him and the questions he left unanswered.

Lemony wished his tears would at least make the room fill up faster. That was starting to seem more awful than the idea of being burned alive.

He took a while to realize that the strange sound that echoed in the room was a door being opened. He thought it was one of his captors that returned, for what reason he couldn't imagine. Maybe he could use the gift he apparently had to irritate people and get them to end this faster.

"You look like you could use some help." A familiar voice said.

It couldn't be. Lemony raised his head, sure that he must have dreamed it.

"Mr. Editor?"

He hadn't. He was really there. Somehow his editor managed to find him.

"You look worse than usual, Snicket." Editor said, walking towards him.

"Thank you. I make an effort."Lemony couldn't resist saying. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving your butt." Editor replied, checking the handcuffs.

"How did you find me?"

"You left a note saying you had some investigation to do in a real estate agency. I knew you would be in trouble."

Lemony frowned, unsure of how that answered his question.

"You shouldn't have come here." He said. "If anyone suspects you came for me, you will be in an immense danger."

"Too late. Besides, I am only doing my job." Editor said in a calm tone.

"Your job is to edit my writing."

"My job is to correct your mistakes." He started messing with the lock, but Lemony couldn't see exactly what he was doing.

"Not this sort of mistake," Lemony said, then frowned. "But since you're here, I would be thankful if you could release me soon. My socks are getting wet."

"Be patient and stay still. Not everyone learned lock picking in school."

"I feel like this is a big failure of our educational system."

Lemony could almost see the eye roll his editor made at the comment. He almost smiled at it.

"Mr. Editor?" The man hummed in reply. "Thank you. I thought I would die here."

Right after Lemony said it, the handcuffs opened. He was free. His socks were really wet.

"Well, you have a contract. And I will get a bad reputation if I lose my author in such a stupid way."

Editor stepped in front of him, and they exchanged a long and significant look.

"You will get worse if you are seen with me."

"You should have thought of that before getting captured." Editor said, stubborn as always.

"You have no idea of what you are getting into," Lemony said.

"You underestimate me. I read more than just your books, Snicket."

"No reading can prepare you for what is waiting out there."

"If you can deal with it, I can deal with it."

Lemony shook his head, but Editor interrupted him before he could speak.

"I can't lose you."

"I owe you a lot," Lemony said.

"You do, but that's not the question." Editor smiled. "You are so intelligent, but you don't seem to realize it. We are in this together, whether you want it or not. Together." Lemony opened his mouth to protest, but Editor continued. "I'm already into this. And just because I didn't receive the same training as you, it doesn't mean I can't defend myself."

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"Do you think I will be fine if you get yourself hurt, or drowned inside some random basement?" Lemony opened his mouth again, but Editor seemed to not want to hear it. "I won't. And if you disappear, I will go after you. I will face all these dangers you speak of to find out the truth. So you are not protecting me by trying to keep me out of it."

Lemony reluctantly nodded. But he had a lot of questions still.

"Why are you doing all of this?" Was the most important one.

"Why wouldn't I?" Editor replied. "You are... We are... you know?"

Lemony frowned. He didn't know. He didn't like not knowing. But Editor also seemed not to be sure, and it made it all the more awkward. He didn't like this awkward feeling.

"Work partners?" He offered, knowing well it was not it.

Editor gave a half nod.

"Can we leave now? My socks got wet too."

Lemony accepted both the suggestion and the easy way out of the awkward conversation. He was not ready to open himself up to get close to anyone again, after everyone he lost. But whether he wanted it or not, he was something more than simply work partners with Editor and that was almost as terrifying as being trapped in a flooding basement.

So for now, he just wanted to leave and go back to his apartment, focus on his research and his books and forget about feelings for a while.


End file.
